“Am I difficult to love?”
I ask myself this question often, more times than I can count. No one warned me how much it would hurt to see people proving to me that I am indeed difficult to love, treating me like an unfinished story, leaving words hanging when there are countless pages left to reach the end. Am I not worth finishing the book for?
As time goes by, I’ve come to accept that part of me is hard to love. I know I am difficult because I often find it hard to love myself. So, I stopped trying to prove that I am as deserving of love as anyone else. Instead, I made peace with the idea. I no longer beg for love or change myself to earn someone’s fond gaze. Perhaps I carry the remnants of love I once wanted, shattered into pieces that are hard to put back together.
That’s why I love harder. I love harder than I am loved because I know how excruciating that feeling is. I pour my heart into every gesture, hoping to make up for the moments when my insecurities overshadow my intentions. There is no guarantee my love will be reciprocated, but I congratulate myself each time I love someone sincerely, knowing my intentions are pure. I don’t expect my feelings to be returned because I understand it’s never been that easy – and that’s okay.
I love harder because I know what it feels like to be misunderstood and overlooked. I want to make sure you never feel that way.
